


like a light within you

by blastellanos



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: + a surprise character, Gen, i don't want to ruin the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 14:56:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15709530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/pseuds/blastellanos
Summary: There's always a passing. The secrets that burn beneath the breastbone, in the heart, where passion rests.





	like a light within you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [addandsubtract](https://archiveofourown.org/users/addandsubtract/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [addandsubtract](https://archiveofourown.org/users/addandsubtract/pseuds/addandsubtract) in the [boysofsummer18](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/boysofsummer18) collection. 



> I guess I only write witch AUs now. 
> 
> Thanks to [thesaddestboner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner) for the beta.

Víctor always knew this day would come. He's been waiting for it. He's been ready for it, since the hazy days of summer last year. He'd gone to his ranch during his stint on the disabled list and thought about his recovery and how maybe that was where he should end it.

But the truth is, he hadn't wanted to go out with such a whimper. And while this season certainly hasn’t been his greatest, he's happy to still be in the clubhouse. He's happy to still be here. Víctor feels the magic beating underneath Detroit like his own heartbeat, with each step on the concrete.

He wonders if whoever had surveyed for Comerica Park, when it was first being built, would know. If they had been able to feel the beat beneath the city, at this moment, surged with power that went beyond anything he'd felt in any other park.

This is Víctor's home. His center. His soul.

But all good things must pass.

There's always a passing. The secrets that burn beneath the breastbone, in the heart, where passion rests.

There's always a passing of the mantle.

And while it's not _easy_ , it's time.

Late last year, they'd huddled together in the shadows of the dugout and talked the possibilities—with JV likely being traded and Víctor himself not too long for the game, only Miggy would remain. But there always has to be three.

Before Verlander had left, he'd bestowed his secrets. Víctor remembers the ceremony, in the middle of Comerica, the moon full above, with the sounds of the city surrounding them. And they'd drawn sigils in the dirt around the mound, and Michael Fulmer knelt on the rubber looking concerned and confused.

Then knowing. Then, _feeling._

Víctor remembers, leaning against the railing, that it was still the three of them, talking about _who next_

There has to be three.

The Warrior, the Father, the Sage.

Almost like that.

The pitcher is always the father-- the one who stands in the center. It can be traced back to the old days, when complete games were more common, but it still stands.

 _"The once and future ace,"_ Verlander had cracked as he painted Fulmer's face with some kind of essential oil, some secret ingredient, something he didn't know.

And Miggy, the Sage. His wisdom sought by all. Clearly, he's the best hitter, or _was_. But Víctor sees a resurgence. He thinks of how the roles will be, when Miggy steps into the batter's box-- _Batting next, the Designated Hitter_ \-- and he'll play first base in National League stadiums, Víctor thinks.

The Sage being more a franchise face, Víctor thinks that maybe Nick will take that role on next. They'd watched him grow up, seen the change in wisdom. Seen the growth from gawky kid to what he is now. Víctor would say he's proud; he thinks maybe Miggy would too.

And he wants the Sage for Nick. He deserves it after putting in the work, grinding everything out, and at times, especially this year, putting the team on his back. Víctor watches him work and work and move through a team that's at times hard to give it all to. Víctor knows.

Which leaves the Warrior.

Víctor thinks long and hard about it and he wonders if he should wait, but the season's drawing to a close and there's not going to be enough time. He has to make his decision now, he has to make it without any sort of hesitation and he _knows_.

"It's time," he says to Miggy, at the end of their weekly phone call.

The sports media in Detroit has a grand time, talking to Miggy, asking about his recovery, and just seeing him. His presence lights the entire clubhouse up and Víctor knows part of what they lacked this year was _that_ electricity in the clubhouse.

But next year, Víctor will watch from his home in Florida, his heart still beating for the team he'd given his years to. To the team that was his family, for better or for worse.

It's a solemn thing, to pass on this knowledge. It's a marked ending, but a rite of passage for those who follow. Víctor's considered who should take the role on. And it should be someone who would be there for a long time. Someone who would wind themselves around the old English D and make their presence known.

Someone whose name would pulse with the heartbeat beneath the concrete, with whispered names, and the echoes of those who'd entwined themselves with the city before. There's always that. It has to be a careful consideration. Víctor can already hear the murmuring of his own name at the edges of the magic he uses.

And now-- the torch passes.

"You sure, you no wanna go once more round the sun?" Miggy asks as they stand in front of the two story walk-up; he tucks his hands in his pockets and feels that same magnetism that draws everyone in, when Miggy smiles at him.

Fulmer's quiet, probably texting his wife, probably just sad, like they all are. All bruised and beat up.

"We not all Bartolo." Víctor huffs out a laugh to hide the pain he feels at knowing this is the end. It's time, but it still hurts. He knocks on the door.

It's time. But there's still a _yearning_.

The missed opportunities. What they could have been and weren't. What they would be.

Down the line-- he thinks of that trio. Of Fulmer, of Nick, and now--

JaCoby opens the door and looks surprised to see them, his brow furrowing.

"What's up?" he says. He moves to let them in, but Miggy gestures for him to come out.

"It's time." Miggy echoes Víctor's words from before, and Víctor can't help but smile.

The kids all know, even from little league and up, that some day-- if you're lucky, if they think you're _it_ , you'll get the power. You'll join the trio-- as important to baseball as peanuts and cracker jacks. The understanding dawns, with the announcement that Víctor had made earlier that day.

JaCoby breathes in and he nods, taking a moment to compose himself.

At the end of the night, Víctor will be Warrior no longer. And like it's been almost the whole year, the balance will be off with all three of the triad missing, with all of them on the DL.

But summer will fade into fall, and then winter will come. The three of them will be together. And Víctor will come to watch them train down in Lakeland, and then spring will come again.


End file.
